Is it prime?
I got passport photos taken last week. Time has certainly passed between passport photos. Nothing makes ten years quite so apparent as comparing 2 x 2 close-ups. My glasses have squared off. My hair has migrated from the top of my head to my chin and jawbone. I look wiser and rougher, but I'm still me.
Tuesday, June 26, 2007
Upon a time: A short review
Once is a rich man's Music and Lyrics. It's beautiful and moving, charming and genuine. What it lacks in Hollywood production it makes up for with splendid singer-songwriter music that spins a tale of awkwardness, connection, and creativity. I suppose it's a musical, or perhaps a love story. Either way, I dare you to watch it and not want to make music and love of your own.
Once is a rich man's Music and Lyrics. It's beautiful and moving, charming and genuine. What it lacks in Hollywood production it makes up for with splendid singer-songwriter music that spins a tale of awkwardness, connection, and creativity. I suppose it's a musical, or perhaps a love story. Either way, I dare you to watch it and not want to make music and love of your own.
Word
The word fairy has pointed out that "fervent" may not have been the word to use in yesterday's post. fervent (adj.) having great warmth or intensity of spirit. I might have been able to get away with it once, but twice really elucidated the awkwardness.
Ripe might have been a better word. The banana joke certainly points in that direction. ripe (adj.) advanced to the point of being ready to use.
Words have been tricky for me lately. They aren't coming out so well and I'm second-guessing them when they do. Times like these make me pleased that blogging doesn't put food on the table.
The word fairy has pointed out that "fervent" may not have been the word to use in yesterday's post. fervent (adj.) having great warmth or intensity of spirit. I might have been able to get away with it once, but twice really elucidated the awkwardness.
Ripe might have been a better word. The banana joke certainly points in that direction. ripe (adj.) advanced to the point of being ready to use.
Words have been tricky for me lately. They aren't coming out so well and I'm second-guessing them when they do. Times like these make me pleased that blogging doesn't put food on the table.
Monday, June 25, 2007
The great thing about Mary
Kella has greatly undertold the ambush of Mary. It grows more fervent with each passing day. By now, it's pretty fervent; if it were a banana it would probably be black. Luckily, its just a story and I'm just its teller.
I needed to visit the icon and ice cream establishment Ted Drewes, famous for concretes and other cold concoctions. Having grown up with just the bulk of Missouri between me and Ted, I was fond of the place and suggested we hit him up for something chill. Kella agreed. Then she hatched her ambush plan.
It didn't start out as an ambush plan, just a friendly visit. It started with a phone call that went unanswered and then another and another. If we had been asking Mary out on a date, our call volume would have been high, but we weren't and it wasn't like she was answering the phone anyway. I should mention at this point that although I was and still am quite fond of Mary, she and I had fallen pretty far out of touch. Far enough that if Kella hadn't been around I wouldn't have even found her in the phone book or known which side of the Mississippi she called home. If Mary and I had been components of a BLT, we probably would have been on separate sandwiches at this point. None of that would stop Kella; she is a determined woman.
We arrived on Mary's street, where brick houses bumped up against their neighbors and sidewalks sliced through front yards. Every house had porch steps. The straight slightly sloping street looked like the suburbs of a childhood someone older than me would remember. We found Mary's home and the ambush unfolded.
More calls went unanswered. So did banging on the door, ringing of the doorbell, and shouts of "MARY!" through the screen. Lights were on, but nobody was home. Dogs didn't bark. Babies didn't cry. Streets were quiet and Ted awaited. I would have given up at this point, if not at points before. I didn't want to wake anybody. I started to doubt my appeal to Mary at 9:30 PM on a school night. I tried to convince Kella of this; but, and you may have heard this, she is a determined woman. She strode confidently to the neighbor's door and rang the bell. A neighbor, a friendly enough Midwestern woman with proper neighborly curiosity answered the door as I stood on the sidewalk between the two houses. Kella introduced herself and explained our plans and our surprise that Mary's family was not to be found. The neighbor took in the story only eyeing the bearded stranger lurking on the sidewalk once. Fortunately for me, beards hide blushing, and darkness hides the rest.
The concerned neighbor and Kella proceeded to go through the same knocking, ringing, shouting ritual that I had already witnessed as I stood on the sidewalk behind them. Had we been scorned lovers of Mary's this was the point where she might have considered a restraining order.
None of this seemed to have an effect. And then when I was really ready to give up, which was three notches above ready to give up, their ritual reached ears and my blush reached pinker. Finally, we entered the house, Mary appeared, eyed me for a moment in then said in a high-pitched greeting straight out of my past, "DAVE." The blush left, Ted was on his way, and I was regaled by the fabulous storytelling styles of Mary.
Score one for determined women. Score one for an ambush.
Kella has greatly undertold the ambush of Mary. It grows more fervent with each passing day. By now, it's pretty fervent; if it were a banana it would probably be black. Luckily, its just a story and I'm just its teller.
I needed to visit the icon and ice cream establishment Ted Drewes, famous for concretes and other cold concoctions. Having grown up with just the bulk of Missouri between me and Ted, I was fond of the place and suggested we hit him up for something chill. Kella agreed. Then she hatched her ambush plan.
It didn't start out as an ambush plan, just a friendly visit. It started with a phone call that went unanswered and then another and another. If we had been asking Mary out on a date, our call volume would have been high, but we weren't and it wasn't like she was answering the phone anyway. I should mention at this point that although I was and still am quite fond of Mary, she and I had fallen pretty far out of touch. Far enough that if Kella hadn't been around I wouldn't have even found her in the phone book or known which side of the Mississippi she called home. If Mary and I had been components of a BLT, we probably would have been on separate sandwiches at this point. None of that would stop Kella; she is a determined woman.
We arrived on Mary's street, where brick houses bumped up against their neighbors and sidewalks sliced through front yards. Every house had porch steps. The straight slightly sloping street looked like the suburbs of a childhood someone older than me would remember. We found Mary's home and the ambush unfolded.
More calls went unanswered. So did banging on the door, ringing of the doorbell, and shouts of "MARY!" through the screen. Lights were on, but nobody was home. Dogs didn't bark. Babies didn't cry. Streets were quiet and Ted awaited. I would have given up at this point, if not at points before. I didn't want to wake anybody. I started to doubt my appeal to Mary at 9:30 PM on a school night. I tried to convince Kella of this; but, and you may have heard this, she is a determined woman. She strode confidently to the neighbor's door and rang the bell. A neighbor, a friendly enough Midwestern woman with proper neighborly curiosity answered the door as I stood on the sidewalk between the two houses. Kella introduced herself and explained our plans and our surprise that Mary's family was not to be found. The neighbor took in the story only eyeing the bearded stranger lurking on the sidewalk once. Fortunately for me, beards hide blushing, and darkness hides the rest.
The concerned neighbor and Kella proceeded to go through the same knocking, ringing, shouting ritual that I had already witnessed as I stood on the sidewalk behind them. Had we been scorned lovers of Mary's this was the point where she might have considered a restraining order.
None of this seemed to have an effect. And then when I was really ready to give up, which was three notches above ready to give up, their ritual reached ears and my blush reached pinker. Finally, we entered the house, Mary appeared, eyed me for a moment in then said in a high-pitched greeting straight out of my past, "DAVE." The blush left, Ted was on his way, and I was regaled by the fabulous storytelling styles of Mary.
Score one for determined women. Score one for an ambush.
Thursday, June 21, 2007
Wednesday, June 20, 2007
Book review: Pistol
I don't find books. Books find me.
I just finished a wonderful, painful biography of Pete Maravich. I'd heard of Pistol Pete before, but I had no idea what he meant to the game of basketball or to anyone else. Kriegel did a beautiful job of trying to capture the thrill of watching Pete play (here's a glimpse on YouTube). He also captured a lot of the pain that Pete went through trying to live up to expectations and fight through injuries. He told a complete story from the generation before to the generation after. I didn't quite cry or leap from my seat, but I think I was close on both counts.
Update: This glimpse is better. It really shows what a great scorer and passer he must have been. He's got all the moves that NBA players of today have clearly copied, or by now have copied the players that copied Pistol Pete. He was clearly ahead of his time and probably hungry... Wow.
I don't find books. Books find me.
I just finished a wonderful, painful biography of Pete Maravich. I'd heard of Pistol Pete before, but I had no idea what he meant to the game of basketball or to anyone else. Kriegel did a beautiful job of trying to capture the thrill of watching Pete play (here's a glimpse on YouTube). He also captured a lot of the pain that Pete went through trying to live up to expectations and fight through injuries. He told a complete story from the generation before to the generation after. I didn't quite cry or leap from my seat, but I think I was close on both counts.
Update: This glimpse is better. It really shows what a great scorer and passer he must have been. He's got all the moves that NBA players of today have clearly copied, or by now have copied the players that copied Pistol Pete. He was clearly ahead of his time and probably hungry... Wow.
Monday, June 18, 2007
Wednesday, June 13, 2007
Monday, June 11, 2007
The straw before the straw
The little things are getting on my nerves lately. I suspect it's related to lack of exercise. Today, a very little thing about sent me over the edge. I was grocery shopping. On my list were the item eggs. Eggs is probably too strong for what I want. I really just want "egg". I think I've used an egg in the last three months. It was time for another. I'm willing to plop down $1.50 for one egg and 5 eggs that will have unrealized potential, which is really doubling their unrealized potential. First they are not baby chickens and then they are not brownies. The eggs that pick me end up seriously down on the actualization scale. If there is an actualization scale.
I looked around at the eggs and saw the various dozen egg holders. Now, back in the day, the last time I bought eggs, I could tear one of those dozen containers to make two six-egg single-guy friendly egg carrying cases with extra ventilation. I ripped and clawed and eventually came up with one this time. It was a lot harder than I remembered. As I was being checked out, the checker paused and looked at the eggs. She was new, so I didn't think much of it until she said, "Did you rip this? Because we don't sell them like that."
I nervously laughed and said, "You should."
She called her manager over and he looked at them too. He wasn't new, but by then I was embarrassed and unable to get my words out. He said, "We don't sell these."
I wanted to eloquently state that I had no $#%@%$# use for 12 eggs, but all he got was my sheepish grin. At about that same moment he opened up my six eggs and noticed one was broken. "One is broken," he told me. "Give it to him for a dollar," he sighed. The checker confirmed that I still wanted the 5 good eggs and 1 broken one.
I should have cried out, "HECK YES! That puts me closer to my actual egg need," but instead there was vigorous head-shaking.
Epilogue: I have emailed my displeasure to Safeway. I am trying to decide whether next time I should buy 12 eggs and then drop 11 of them on the floor, along with a note that says, "bring back the six." It will be in lowercase letters because they are ominous.
The little things are getting on my nerves lately. I suspect it's related to lack of exercise. Today, a very little thing about sent me over the edge. I was grocery shopping. On my list were the item eggs. Eggs is probably too strong for what I want. I really just want "egg". I think I've used an egg in the last three months. It was time for another. I'm willing to plop down $1.50 for one egg and 5 eggs that will have unrealized potential, which is really doubling their unrealized potential. First they are not baby chickens and then they are not brownies. The eggs that pick me end up seriously down on the actualization scale. If there is an actualization scale.
I looked around at the eggs and saw the various dozen egg holders. Now, back in the day, the last time I bought eggs, I could tear one of those dozen containers to make two six-egg single-guy friendly egg carrying cases with extra ventilation. I ripped and clawed and eventually came up with one this time. It was a lot harder than I remembered. As I was being checked out, the checker paused and looked at the eggs. She was new, so I didn't think much of it until she said, "Did you rip this? Because we don't sell them like that."
I nervously laughed and said, "You should."
She called her manager over and he looked at them too. He wasn't new, but by then I was embarrassed and unable to get my words out. He said, "We don't sell these."
I wanted to eloquently state that I had no $#%@%$# use for 12 eggs, but all he got was my sheepish grin. At about that same moment he opened up my six eggs and noticed one was broken. "One is broken," he told me. "Give it to him for a dollar," he sighed. The checker confirmed that I still wanted the 5 good eggs and 1 broken one.
I should have cried out, "HECK YES! That puts me closer to my actual egg need," but instead there was vigorous head-shaking.
Epilogue: I have emailed my displeasure to Safeway. I am trying to decide whether next time I should buy 12 eggs and then drop 11 of them on the floor, along with a note that says, "bring back the six." It will be in lowercase letters because they are ominous.
Sunday, June 10, 2007
It's drive-into-and-then-fly-around-in country, thankyouverymuch
I'm going to start lobbying for a Mideast counterpart to the Midwest. I think Ohio (that's spoken with hand gestures and transformer noises-oo-ee-ee-oo) is unfairly classified as midwestern. It's not even in the central time zone. Ohio (oo-ee-ee-oo) proved to be an excellent driving destination. Just far enough to make the ol' rumpus hurt, but not far enough to send shivers up my spine. There would be no Arby's encounter this time, only a car ride full of arms in the air like we just didn't care or perhaps cared too much and dancing, or the seated marching to The Bravery's circus/Andy Griffith-esque trip theme music. Eventually, we'd end up in Columbus to watch the annual flight of the frisbees. It's a mating ritual. It's a force of nature. (C) It's none of the above. (D) It's all of the above. The College Ultimate Championships is where some very aggressive, physical, beautiful Ultimate gets played. My favorite moment was a successful greatest in a quaterfinal match-up between Stanford and Texas. A big huck to the end zone by Texas was D'ed by Stanford. The Texas guy then jumped out of bounds to grab the D'ed disc and flung it back in for a score. They don't call it the greatest for nothing. I was awed by one Colorado man because he appeared to be doing nothing and then suddenly was doing everything. I think I only saw him try once, every other time it was effortless. He was bored. Discs couldn't move fast enough to elude him and no one could keep up. In the end, he was only one man and he was felled by a bunch of Ho'dags.
Saturday, June 09, 2007
Life on the streets
The Spring Onion's on this street are possessive. Not in an Ike and Tina kind of way, but in a purposeful and commanding way, in a way that rhubarb will never know. I sense that these onions have it figured out. They aren't the sticky hot onions of summer. Their insides are not a frozen wasteland of emotionless existence. No, not at all. They are Spring Onion's. They are onions of rebirth, of new life; they are the phoenix of onions, rising from the compost to take over a salad. A really big salad. A sort of mixed greens of the universe.
I'm lying. I don't even know what spring onions look like. I certainly wouldn't know a purposeful one from a slacker onion. Maybe the onions on this street are no more purposeful than you or me... or mostly me.
The Spring Onion's on this street are possessive. Not in an Ike and Tina kind of way, but in a purposeful and commanding way, in a way that rhubarb will never know. I sense that these onions have it figured out. They aren't the sticky hot onions of summer. Their insides are not a frozen wasteland of emotionless existence. No, not at all. They are Spring Onion's. They are onions of rebirth, of new life; they are the phoenix of onions, rising from the compost to take over a salad. A really big salad. A sort of mixed greens of the universe.
I'm lying. I don't even know what spring onions look like. I certainly wouldn't know a purposeful one from a slacker onion. Maybe the onions on this street are no more purposeful than you or me... or mostly me.
Friday, June 01, 2007
The blockbuster as metaphor
I have not seen Live Free or Die Hard, but I don't think it was filmed in New Hampshire. That's disappointing. However, from the preview, I was able to discern that it's clearly a movie that goes beyond action flick and straight to social commentary.
As best I could tell, Bruce Willis represents the boomer generation. The villains in this film are representations of government programs like social security or health care. Hopefully, one of them is named Doc. It looks to me that as the action unfolds, the boomers (Willis) have to fight the villains to save their children. Only a screening will let me know whether the boomers and Willis succeed in righting the societal ills or if as the final installment of this franchise, we finally see some hard dying.
I have not seen Live Free or Die Hard, but I don't think it was filmed in New Hampshire. That's disappointing. However, from the preview, I was able to discern that it's clearly a movie that goes beyond action flick and straight to social commentary.
As best I could tell, Bruce Willis represents the boomer generation. The villains in this film are representations of government programs like social security or health care. Hopefully, one of them is named Doc. It looks to me that as the action unfolds, the boomers (Willis) have to fight the villains to save their children. Only a screening will let me know whether the boomers and Willis succeed in righting the societal ills or if as the final installment of this franchise, we finally see some hard dying.
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